


Living the Life

by hedgehog_in_221B



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Husband!Dean, Pregnant!Reader, domestic!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3345125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehog_in_221B/pseuds/hedgehog_in_221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A month after Dean comes back from Hell, Castiel stops by the reader's house and tells her and Dean that she's pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living the Life

   You awoke with a start, your heart pounding and your hand clutching your chest. You looked to your left and saw Dean fast asleep beside you and you felt your heart slow. Gently, you placed your hand on his shoulder and he stirred from his sleep, blinking sleepily at you. “You okay?” he mumbled in a groggy voice, his hand moving to cover yours.

   “Just another bad dream,” you replied in a soft voice. He woke up a bit more and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

   “What about?” he asked, stroking your hand.

   “You dying.” There was silence in the room. You looked at him, your expression pained.

   “Hey,” he said, leaning forward and giving you a gentle kiss, his hand resting on your cheek lovingly, “I'm not going anywhere.” You leaned into his touch and placed your hand atop his.

   “You say that now,” you answered, your voice barely a whisper. His gaze intensified, his hands grabbing your shoulders firmly.

   “I'm not going to leave you again. I promise you.” The room was quiet again. You looked at each other for a few moments in silence until his expression softened and he pulled you into a hug.

   “You can't promise me you won't die again. No one can promise that,” you said. He hugged you tighter.

   “Then I'll do my damnedest not to. I won't leave you if I can help it,” he said softly before kissing your shoulder and rubbing your back soothingly. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

   “I can't do it again, Dean.”

   “I know.” You stayed like that for a while, not wanting to let him go. “We should get back to sleep,” he said quietly, unwrapping himself from you. You laid down again and turned onto your side, your back to him. He wound his arms around you and pulled you to him, his face nuzzling into your neck. “I love you,” he said, kissing you.

   “I love you, too,” you replied before falling back into a fitful sleep.

   Four months. It had been four months since you last saw him. He was dead and you didn't want him to be. Four months wasn't a lot of time to get over a thing like that. Not when the love of your life, your husband, died. Sam had begged you to come with him after Dean's passing, but you couldn't. You wouldn't. You needed to start a new life, one where you could be normal. You and Dean had already started to form a life together. You two had bought a house together months back, in hopes of one day settling down and starting a family like you'd always wanted to. You both wanted to get out of the life, but Dean never made it that far. Instead of taking your anger and sorrow out on monsters and other foul things, you thought it would be best if you just left the life, got away from it all. No more pain. No more suffering. No more death. It was better this way. When you heard a knock at your front door, you wiped your tears away quickly. Whoever it was didn't need to see you crying. Upon opening the door, you got the biggest shock of your life. There he was, on your doorstep, totally not dead. You couldn't believe it. It wasn't possible. When he spoke, your eyes welled up with tears and you knew he was back. You hugged him so hard and kissed him repeatedly, all the while sobbing hysterically. You were a mess, but so was he. In that moment, you made a promise to never let him out of your sight. You'd hold on to him forever.

   You reminisced about his homecoming of a little over a month ago. You thought about it often these days, worried that you'd have to go through the same pain of losing him, except this time, he'd stay dead. You sunk down to your knees again and continued to scrub the floor. It was Sunday, and you always did a thorough cleaning of the kitchen on Sundays. Dean was out in the back, doing some yard work. You caught of whiff of fresh cut grass as a cool breeze came through the open kitchen window. You smiled happily to yourself. This was always the life you wanted. A simple, monster-free life. You looked up at the clock above the sink, which read about half past noon. Examining the floor, you decided it was good enough and that it was time for lunch. Rising, you quickly threw together a couple sandwiches and pulled out the pitcher of lemonade you made earlier that morning from the fridge. You piled these and two glasses onto a small serving tray and walked to the back of the house and into the backyard where Dean was hard at work. “Lunch time,” you said cheerfully and he looked up, smiling at you.

   “Well, it's about time,” he responded, pulling his work gloves off and shoving them into his back pocket. He walked up to you, giving you a warm kiss.

   “Go wash up. I'll set up everything,” you said, smiling against his lips. He winked at you and disappeared into the house. You laid the tray down on the small glass top table and set out the two glasses, filling them each with lemonade. At that moment, you got the worst headache you'd ever experienced and you felt terribly sick to your stomach. You braced yourself on the table, trying to regain your balance and tolerate the sudden pain. You began breathing short, quick breaths through your mouth, hoping to suppress and calm your nausea. Dean came back out onto the patio and stopped in his tracks, looking at you, concern written all over his face.

   “Y/N, what's wrong?” he asked, rushing to your side.

   “Give me a minute,” you said breathlessly, still trying to hold onto your breakfast. Knowing that all this was in vain, you turned and proceeded to vomit into the nearby grass of the yard, your hands on your knees. Dean was right beside you, holding your hair out of your face and rubbing your back as you continued to heave, your stomach emptying itself of its contents. Eventually, you stopped and felt a bit better, though you still felt as though you could puke again at any second. You straightened up and Dean held you steady on your feet as you swayed a bit, all balance lost. “I need to sit down,” you said hoarsely, your throat burning slightly from the acidic bile. He lead you to a nearby chair and sat you down.

   “Do you need anything?” he asked, his hands resting on your shoulders as he kissed your head.

   “Some water would be great.”

   “You got it, baby.” With that, he was gone again. You closed your eyes and laid your head back, rubbing at your temples. What the hell was that? Dean reappeared again, glass of water in hand. “Here. Are you sure you don't want anything else?” he asked. You shook your head, sipping at the water.

   “I'm afraid if I put anything but water in my stomach I won't be able to keep it down.” He nodded.

   “Well, I'm right here. Anything you want, I'll get it for you. Do you wanna go inside?”

   “No, I'm fine here. Please, eat. You've been working so hard today. I don't need you waiting on me hand and foot,” you said, a small smile on your face. He smiled back at you, though a little reluctant to sit down and eat while you were clearly ill. He scooted his chair close to you and began to eat, you two holding light conversation as he enjoyed his meal. Once finished, he was determined to hold your hand and relax instead of going back to work. You urged him to, but he wouldn't listen.

   “You're clearly sick. I don't want to be out here in the yard while you're inside puking your guts out. No, I'm gonna stay here until you're feeling better. If it takes all day, then so be it,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb. You smiled warmly at you.

   “You're too good to me,” you said. He smiled and leaned over to give your cheek a kiss.

   “Not good enough, if you ask me. I wish there was more I could do for you.”

   “Shh. You're doing just fine. In fact, I think I'd feel better if you just carried on with your work and stopped worrying about me. I told you, I'm fine. It must have been something I ate this morning. Now stop worrying about me,” you said. He rolled his eyes and squeezed your hand.

   “You know I can't do that.” You both laughed when all of a sudden a flurry of wings caught your attention and Castiel had materialized on your patio, trench coat billowing out in the light breeze. You'd only met him a few times, mostly after Dean came back from the dead. You associated him with the hunting life, which made you want nothing to do with him. Dean knew this and was always careful not to tell you when Castiel dropped by, though you always knew. You felt sick again as he walked over to you, his face a mask of seriousness.

   “Dean. Y/N,” he said, his gaze lingering on you as he cocked his head to the side. Dean rose from his seat, letting go of your hand.

   “Not now, Cas. My lady ain't feelin' so well,” he said, stopping the angel before he got too close to you. Castiel still kept his gaze on you, his face intense until, suddenly, his features lightened and he almost smiled. It was as if he was remembering some private inside joke. “Cas? What's going on?”

   “Y/N is pregnant, Dean. Congratulations. It's a boy,” he said, reaching out to awkwardly pat Dean on the shoulder. Dean stared back at him dumbfounded and you stopped feeling sick altogether, your jaw dropping and your hand rushing to clutch at your stomach.

   “Is this some kind of joke? When'd you start joking? She's just sick. She's not pregnant.”

   “Dean, your wife is pregnant with your child.”

   “Cas, that's the stupidest thing I-”

   “He's right.” Dean turned around to look at you, his face questioning..

   “What?”

   “He's right. I think I am pregnant.” There was silence. “It would explain my lack of period this month. And my occasional headaches that come out of no where. I thought it was just the stress of having you back.” He looked at you incredulously before coming to your side and pulling you up from your seat, bringing you to his chest in a loving embrace.

   “Are you really? Is she really pregnant?” Castiel nodded. “For how long?”

   “I must be only a month along. I mean, when you got back, a lot happened and, well, you know...” you said with a trace of a smirk. Dean pressed his forehead to yours and his hand snaked down to rest on your stomach.

   “I can't believe it.”

   “I know. I never thought...I just...I'm so happy, Dean.”

   “Me too, baby. Cas, I don't know what to say. This was unexpected, but it's the best news I've heard in a long time.”

   “I'm glad I could bring you some joy. Now, if you'll excuse me. Congratulations again,” he said.

   “Hold up. Why'd you come by in the first place?”

   “That can wait. I don't want to ruin your happy moment. We can talk later.” And with that, he was gone and you two were left alone again.

   “I can't help but feel a bit uneasy about whatever he wanted to talk to you about.”

   “It's probably nothing. Don't worry about it. You know I love you, right?” You chuckled.

   “I'd be afraid if you didn't.” He smiled and leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on your lips, making you forget all your troubles.


End file.
